


Captivation

by Neophobia



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Angst, Dubious Consent, M/M, Non-Consensual Kissing, Non-Consensual Touching, Possessive Behavior, Pre-Game Oma Kokichi, Pre-Game Saihara Shuichi, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Indulgent, Stalking, Unhealthy Relationships, pregame, pregame au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-15 19:12:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13619877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neophobia/pseuds/Neophobia
Summary: Shuichi never auditions to go on Danganronpa. Not that it matters, because he's found a new obsession.





	1. Found

**Author's Note:**

> As a warning, this is 100 percent self-indulgent. like there are probably 100 inaccuracies in here (please feel free to call me out) but I'm a bitch for pre-game saiouma so here it is... this is me, revealing all my sins..... Don't worry, I'll put a warning at the beginning of each chapter, there's nothing super bad rn but oh boyyyyy
> 
> (btw it'll only be in Shuichi's POV for this chapter, the rest of this fic will be in Kokichi's POV)
> 
> Warnings: Nothing this chapter, except Shuichi being... kinda creepy

The interviews are released on the Team Danganronpa website. Shuichi taps the notification the moment it pops up at 8 o’clock—they’ve been hinting that ‘something’s coming’ all day on their twitter page, and Shuichi’s been playing the Danganronpa game long enough (figuratively) to know exactly what it is.

As he thought. After Monokuma’s loading icon is gone from the screen, he’s met with a list of videos that are titled with the chosen students’ names. Leaning back in his chair, he clicks play all.

They’re nothing Shuichi hasn’t seen before. Most of the contestants that audition for Danganronpa are people filled with hatred, those who marvel at the idea of despair, of being the winner of a killing game. Most of them have a screw loose somewhere, too, and there’s definitely no correlation there at all (an inside fandom joke—fandom agrees that most people come out of Danganronpa saner than they’ve ever been). Sure, there are the few who do it purely for the money or the fame, but even then, they revel at the idea of being known for the most gruesome death or the bloodiest murder.

Those that fall into neither of the two categories are just boring.

Comments from the hundreds and thousands of other people watching the videos scroll across the screen. Shuichi finds himself watching the comments more than anything (typing a few himself from time to time) because honestly, these contestants seem pretty typical, if not more bloodthirsty than last year. Guy who wants to murder everyone, super emo who just wants to die, yawn, yawn, yawn.

At the tenth video, things change.

When the video first comes on, the majority of Shuichi’s attention is still on the comments scrolling by rapidly, mostly because he takes once glance and deems that this character isn’t anything new. The boy on the screen is timid and fidgety, and every Danganronpa has one of those: a contestant that’s transformed from their timid selves into someone brash and annoying on the actual show. Real original, Shuichi thinks, rolling his eyes. Even though he absolutely adores the show and its genius creators, they reuse tropes too much.

The comments roll in like a tidal wave. “Cute!!!!!” “A cinnamon roll <333” “He’s so smol omg” “PROTECT HI M” etc, etc. Someone has a lot of fans already. But that will change—no one really cares about the participants’ original personalities once the game begins.

Shuichi can see their point, though. The boy’s eyelashes flutter underneath wild purple bangs that obscure his face _just_ enough to have that innocent effect, and his small stature combined with his overall nerves (that the boy tries to hide by wrangling his fingers together, ironically) capture the term ‘shrinking violet’ perfectly. He takes a quick glance at the video’s title (which he’d forgotten to do for a few of the other students, admittedly). ‘Kokichi Ouma,’ it says.

“U-um.” Kokichi’s voice trembles, even after he clears his throat a couple times over. “My name is Ouma Kokichi. And I want to be on Danganronpa because…” He hesitates. “Because I want friends.”

That unleashes a torrent of comments that fill up the screen completely. The usual adoring internet comments, gushing with fake adoration (“I’ll be your friend ‘Kichi!!” one reads. As if). Shuichi clicks them off, and leans a little bit closer to the screen.

Kokichi continues. “I-I may not look like it, but I think I’d be perfect for the killing game! I wouldn’t mind being one of the first ones to die, either! Not that I’m saying I want to be a martyr either, I… I just promise to make it interesting, I _promise_.”

Pleading and making promises doesn’t get a person far in the Danganronpa auditions. Usually. And when it does, Shuichi sighs and trusts that the Team knows what they’re doing. It doesn’t bother him too much, because they’ll be a different person by the start of the season—but it still bothers him.

But this time, Shuichi gets it. Because everything about Kokichi Ouma is a _mystery_. There’s always something they carry over from the old persona to the new, and for Kokichi, it will be _this_ . And Shuichi can tell it’s effortless for Kokichi, because nobody—even someone who’s faking it—would say they want to be on Danganronpa to get _friends_. As for the promise? It’s desperate. Not the desperate as in ‘I want to be in this reality tv show’ but more like ‘I promise to not let you down.’

And that’s fascinating. The last six interviews pass in a blur, and Shuichi is almost glad when the last one ends so he can go back to Kokichi’s video. He watches and re-watches the video, trying to find even a hint of something that says he’s going off a script, but there’s nothing. Just Kokichi’s large doe eyes, shining with earnest as he promises he’ll make it interesting. Shuichi is definitely interested.

He searches the internet for any signs of Kokichi’s name. Social media accounts, news, friends, family, nothing. He’s ready to go to sleep out of pure frustration (it’s 12, when did this become so _important_ to him) when a notification on his phone buzzes.

_@TeamDR tweeted: Enjoy the show? Learn more about the 53rd class of #Danganronpa_ _here_ _!_

The profiles are actually kind of useless. The names are there, but the cast portraits are hidden by question marks along with all of their personal information: likes, dislikes, birthdays, etc. Shuichi figures they’re saving it for when the killing game personas are revealed; they’ve had personal info pages like this in the past, but never before the game actually began. He considers it a stroke of good luck, even more so when he sees that each student’s current high school is listed, along with the logo.

“Imperial Capital’s Imperial High School,” it reads below the faceless portrait of Kokichi Ouma. It takes a quick search to learn that the high school is only a couple of subway stations away from his house.

Perfect.


	2. Approach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kokichi meets someone on the subway.
> 
> Warning: Stalking, manipulation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over 60 kudos and almost 500 hits?? I honestly was not expecting this much attention over this fic, thank you so much to everyone, you've been such a motivation! I guess you all want to see Kokichi suffer as much as I do amiright
> 
> Also, I hope this was apparent to everyone already, but I do NOT endorse Shuichi's behavior in any type of way at all in real life, what he is doing is very much Not Okay. This is just me exploring this aspect of their pregame personalities... which is what I would say if I was trying to explain this to a college professor but it's not the truth. I'm just being a terrible person
> 
> Remember when I said it was just going to be Kokichi's POV from now on? I lied, Shuichi's here at the end too. He's just too fun to write. Hope you enjoy!

Being chosen for Danganronpa has made Kokichi’s life hell.

It wasn’t that bad a few weeks ago, when all he’d gotten was a discreet email from Team Danganronpa with its standard congratulatory words and no extra fanfare. He hadn’t needed it; he was happy enough just seeing the words “ _Congratulations, Kokichi Ouma!”_ on his computer screen. And for the first time in a long time, he looked forward to the days ahead.

Six months. It seemed too long. And it still seems too long, for a different reason.

There’s something pretty telling about the fact that he doesn’t follow Team Danganronpa on any social media sites. Doesn’t care what it says about his actual dedication to the show, but he realizes he should probably start looking into that when five students he’s never seen come up and congratulate him on making it in.

“We all saw your interview,” one of them gushes. Her fingernails tap against the surface of the wood impatiently, a stark contrast to the slow smile that appears on her face. “We recognized you right away, of course. Why didn’t you tell anyone, Ouma-kun?”

“You’re gonna be a star!” another says, slapping his back so hard he almost knocks his forehead onto his desk. “Be sure to remember me when you’re on the big stage!”

Kokichi doesn’t even know the guy’s name, let alone remember it, but he doesn’t say that. He doesn’t tell them to stop pretending they’re close just because they saw him on some stupid video screen despite ignoring him for the past two and a half years. He doesn’t tell them to leave, that this is exactly why he wants to throw himself into the killing game in the first place.

He doesn’t say that. Instead, he gives a small nod, prompting another barrage of questions. Kokichi shrinks into his seat and stares intently at his desk, but the lack of a response hardly deters the growing crowd around him. He quietly thanks whatever deity is watching over him when the finally teacher walks in, forcing the ring of students to scatter.

Throughout class, all he can feel are eyes on him, from the back, from the front, from the side. Kokichi could laugh—he’s not even in the killing game yet and he’s already this paranoid. Maybe it’ll be useful during the killing game, he thinks, maybe make up for everything he has that’s _not_ useful (everything else). But being weary of everyone would defeat the purpose of him participating in the first place.

During lunch, he typically eats alone on the roof. He fishes his bento out of his bag and slips away and nobody gives him a second glance, even as he opens the ‘maintenance only’ door in plain sight. It’s not hard.

But today, a group of people (he doesn’t know if they’re the same students from his morning) surround him as soon as the class is dismissed.

“Want to join us for lunch, Ouma-kun?” A girl asks, all smiles. The other girls behind her giggle, while a few of the guys hanging around snicker. Kokichi doesn’t like it.

“A-alright.” He forces himself to smile, and it feels pinched at the edges.

They lead him to the hallway, all chattering among themselves while Kokichi is stuck floundering for words in the middle of them all. First-year him would’ve been thrilled at this whole situation, would’ve been chatting and laughing it up by now. But to present him, their presence just grates on his ears like sandpaper. He wishes he didn’t see their intentions so clearly.

But it’s not like they try to hide it very well. “So, how did you do it?” one of the boys asks. “Like, I had a cousin that tried out a couple years ago. Super smart, goes to university in Tokyo now, but he _never_ made it past the written essay. Are you secretly a genius or something?”

Kokichi thinks he mumbles a ‘no.’ He can’t be sure, because his own voice is drowned out by the other boy sitting right next to him (too close; their arms are almost brushing and Kokichi’s been moving away in microcentimeter-increments). His voice is as big as his build—athlete, probably. “Are you kidding? Some of the contestants are total dumbasses. And even worse, some of them are total _freaks_.”

An uncomfortable silence falls over the group, an uncomfortable truth. It’s pointless for them to try and avoid it, not when it’s been spelled out in the air in big, flashing letters.

(He’s a freak)

“Yours was good, Ouma-kun! One of the best,” a girl says after too many seconds, maybe the same one who approached him for lunch.

“Thanks,” he says, ducking his head. Not thanks for the compliment, but for trying to repair the damage. Not that it helped, judging by the looks the boys are exchanging with each other.

She persists. “You could totally win! Even if it depends on the talent and backstory they give you. I’ll be sure to root for you.” The rest of the group nods in agreement.

“I don’t want to win,” he doesn’t say. In fact, he says nothing at all, and their attention is eventually shifted away from him.

* * *

They tail him to the subway station, even when he tries to hang back, pack up slowly, linger at his desk for no reason at all—when he exits the classroom, they’re there. A part of him (against his will) feels happy at seeing people waiting for him. Most days, he’s just one with the stream of students rushing for the door, and other days, his steps towards the exit echo in an entirely abandoned hallway.

The happy feeling doesn’t last. “This is Yamada,” the athlete from before says, slapping a tall, wispy-looking student on the back. He gives Kokichi a nod, and Kokichi offers him a timid wave. “He tried out for Danganronpa this year too, he’s got a few questions for you.”

“I just wanted to discuss some things,” Yamada corrects.

‘Some things’ turns into what’s basically an interrogation all the way to the station, and then some. Yamada tells him that he didn’t pass the first round of auditions and wants an intricate step-by-step of the process down to the minute details. Kokichi doesn’t know why he’s consulting him instead of online accounts from actual participants, but he does know that—when they board the subway and Yamada squeezes himself next to Kokichi’s seat—that he’s going to have to give him an explanation.

“What are they even looking for?” Yamada rages after a few of Kokichi’s less-than-acceptable answers. “I get that they have to fill a quota and everything, but why does it even matter? They rewrite the memories and personalities of the contestants when the game starts. Maybe it’s random.”

Kokichi’s inclined to agree. He can’t think of a single reason he got picked, unless it was to generate sympathy from the audience. He’s not exactly an expert on the ins and outs of Danganronpa (he’s definitely proven that with his flimsy responses). Yamada continues, almost to himself: “But then why even have such a convoluted process? It’s unnecessary. Which follows the general theme of the games, I guess, but this is _real life_ —”

“Ouma-kun!” One of the girls (not the one that asked him if he wanted to have lunch, that one is standing further away, laughing with one of her friends) taps him on the shoulder and he quickly turns to look at her and away from Yamada. “Do you come with us for karaoke?” she asks.

Yamada’s mutterings have stopped. Kokichi doesn’t know if he’s turned his attention elsewhere or if he’s waiting for Kokichi’s answer. “Sorry,” he says, fiddling with his schoolbag. “I have to get home.”

“Ah, alright,” she says. The speakers crackle on, announcing that the subway was coming to a stop and stay clear of the doors, please. “See you tomorrow, Ouma-kun!”

The rest of them go from the train with similar words of goodbye, all except Yamada, who just waves. His gaze seems far away. Kokichi lets out a deep sigh when the subway begins to move again.

Then, he hears footsteps coming close. A Danganronpa fan, he thinks, staring straight ahead at the ground. Danganronpa has a nationwide (almost cult-like) following, and there are bound to be fans outside of school who recognize him.

“Sorry, could I sit here?” The voice is light. A brief glance upward reveals the voice belongs to a high schooler: a boy with his bag slung over his shoulder, unrecognizable school uniform, well-put together minus a single strand of hair sticking out from the top of his head. He sounds apologetic. Kokichi nods and shuffles to the right, feeling the teen slide into the seat next to him.

If Kokichi had looked around instead of fixing his gaze to the floor, he would’ve seen other empty seats scattered around the subway car. He doesn’t.

“Were the people that you were talking to before friends?”

Kokichi wasn’t expecting the boy to make small talk. He glances at the boy, who stares back with a completely open expression. “Classmates,” he responds.

The boy nods. “I guessed, based on your uniforms. You didn’t seem to comfortable in that conversation.”

Well, Kokichi’s glad he was apparent about it. Not that he’s usually good at hiding his feelings. “U-um, yeah, not really,” he admits quietly.

“Were they bothering you because you got chosen for Danganronpa?”

Kokichi freezes. It must show (when does it not), because the boy backpedals immediately. “Sorry, sorry!” he says, a slight blush dusting his face. “I didn’t… mean it to come off like that. I’m not here to heckle you—I’m sure enough people have done that already. I was just curious.”

There’s that apologetic voice again. “Are…” Kokichi hesitates. “Are you a fan?”

“Of Danganronpa?” The boy’s eyes light up. “Ye-yeah, you could say that. I follow it pretty closely. Watched most of the previous seasons, get involved in all the internet discussions, but—” he says, voice turning sheepish, “that’s really not why I approached you, I swear. I just thought you looked a little shaken.”

“It’s alright,” Kokichi says, and finds himself meaning it.

“Thanks.” The boy gives him a small smile. “For understanding. I can’t imagine what it’s like, and not in a good way.”

“...Y-yeah. It’s a lot.” Kokichi’s eyes flicker back to the floor. “But I’m not ungrateful…but there could’ve been better people. I hardly know anything about Danganronpa, I just… it was on a whim.”

“Don’t say _that_ .” Kokichi’s head jerks up at the unexpected force behind the words. The boy’s stare is determined (and glazed-over, almost, but they’re too fiery for that) as he says, “There’s _always_ a reason they pick who they pick.”

Then, in the blink of an eye, the boy turns sheepish again. “That was a bit intense, sorry. It’s just sad to hear you talk like that.”

“That’s… that’s okay,” he says, a bit dazed. “Thanks.”

A bell tone dings, and the speaker announces his stop. “This is my stop.” He stands up. Feeling like he should say something more, he turns. “Thanks for…”

“I got it.” The boy smiles again, a bit wider this time. “If those classmates bother you again, I’m usually on this subway line so you can come over if you want. Just come sit down next to me, I won’t mind.” He reaches out his hand. “I’m Saihara Shuichi.”

Kokichi takes it tentatively. “Um… Ouma Kokichi.”

Shuichi lets out a puff of laughter, and Kokichi jumps slightly, not expecting it. “I know,” Shuichi says, still smiling, the amusement dancing in his eyes. “See you around.”

With a final wave and his heartbeat thrumming in his ears, Kokichi steps off the train.

* * *

Shuichi slips between the subway car’s doors just as they’re about to close.

Due to Kokichi’s height, it’s hard to keep track of him in the bustling crowd. He risks going a little closer, just to test the waters; Kokichi looks straight ahead the whole way (there’s no reason for him to do otherwise, after all), allowing Shuichi to only stay a couple meters behind him, eyes intently tracking the head of dark purple hair.

Once they’re ground level and the crowd begins to disperse, Shuichi slows his steps to widen the distance between him and Kokichi. He takes out his cap and places it on his head as an extra precaution. Hopefully, even if Kokichi does happen to look back, his face will be obscured enough so that he doesn’t give him a second thought.

It’s not like Shuichi does this regularly. He should’ve done more research. He only knows about sneaking on people from, well, Danganronpa—but there’s got to be a bit of credibility there, considering it’s a murder game.

But remembering Kokichi’s face—his wide eyes that darted from corner to corner, the slight trembling of his fingers (just like in the interview video), his nervous expression, his surprise (wonder?) at being complimented, getting to brush the fabric of Kokichi’s sleeve, getting to marvel at how Kokichi was just a few centimeters away—Shuichi’s glad he decided to just approach him today. Plus, it speeds things up. There’s approximately six months until Danganronpa’s 53rd season begins, and although Shuichi doesn’t have a planned course of action, it gives him more time to get close.

Kokichi turns into an entrance leading into a sprawling apartment complex and the group of high school girls he’d been hiding behind branch off in another direction. Shuichi takes a moment to calculate the costs and benefits of a further course of action; on one hand, if he keeps following Kokichi, he’ll be able to find the exact apartment he lives in. On the other, the roads leading to the various buildings are open, with little to no foliage for cover. Obscuring his face is one thing, but Kokichi mistaking his uniform is highly unlikely.

But there is an option three, he thinks. He reaches for his phone and points the camera towards the apartment complex entrance sign.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, comments and kudos are very much appreciated (and I'm always willing to accept feedback)! Chapters are posted as they get finished!


	3. Observe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kokichi gets an interesting message.
> 
> Warnings: Hints of obsessive behavior, stalking, panic attack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait everyone, but I am back atcha with more despair! Despair? Things are actually pretty tame this chapter, if I'm being honest... but after this, whew, it's gonna escalate. I was originally going to put the not-so-good stuff in this chapter, but then it became too long so I've decided to draw out the wait a bit more. I hope to have the next chapter out in a week or so! Characterization is definitely hard when it comes to capturing their pre-game personalities; although most of these are my personal headcanons, I tried to use clues from the actual game to construct their personalities here. Please let me know if you spot any inconsistencies and I'll try to do better next time!
> 
> I just wanted to say again: thank you for the amazing response to this fic. Over 1000 hits and 100 kudos, I'm just absolutely floored. Thank you to everyone who leaves a comment especially; they mean the world to me, and seeing other people enjoy this concept just really makes my day (and ready to write more despair, of course). Without further ado, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

He takes up Shuichi’s offer the very next day. Although he’s not usually one to bother other people like this, the questions Yamada asks him have started to become too probing. Almost threatening. The guy seems to get more riled up with every answer Kokichi gives him, no matter how brief, how innocuous. There’s a sharp, cool edge to Yamada’s words that jabs at him in the subtlest of ways. “You really don’t know anything, do you,” he says a lot, and there’s a bitterness there. A dangerous one.

There was no one waiting outside the classroom today. Except for Yamada, a piercing gaze and a (forced) smile on his face, asking if he wanted to ‘continue their discussion from yesterday.’ And Kokichi was stupid enough to say ‘sure’ because Yamada had _waited_. For _him._

Shuichi’s waiting for him too, same seat where they were sitting yesterday. When Kokichi hurriedly breaks away from Yamada (who’s practically breathing down his neck at this point) and quietly asks if it’s alright to sit next to him, Shuichi’s eyes _glow_ as he smiles and nods. And stupidly enough, it makes Kokichi happy. A lot happier than seeing Yamada loitering outside the classroom doors.

They’ve known each other for a day. It’s stupid of him.

“You’re shaking,” Shuichi notes, and his eyes flicker towards the direction Yamada went off to. “Was it that guy who came on the train with you?”

His voice is curious. Concerned. Kokichi bites his lip. “A little, b-but it wasn’t anything, really. Just… questions. He’s just a classmate of mine, t-they’ve been asking questions a lot lately.”

Shuichi nods. He seems to have a quiet understanding about a lot of things—Kokichi’s stuttered-out thanks on the subway yesterday, for instance—and for that, Kokichi’s grateful. (And a little happy again—stupid.)

“I’ve heard stories of _Danganronpa_ contestants being heckled over the edge by over-enthusiastic ‘fans.’ They’re not really fans, especially if they’re trying to harm the show’s participants—just sabotagers with self-projection issues.” A flash of something crosses Shuichi’s face. It’s hard to describe, but Kokichi would call it ‘annoyance’ more than anything else. It’s gone in the next instant, replaced by a caring smile that feels like a spotlight on Kokichi’s face. “If something happens, tell me, alright? These cases are fairly common but easily handled, so I could help you out it something happened? Oh, maybe we could exchange phone numbers! Although you should call the police first if something did happen… I could still offer comfort, at least? And to tell you the truth, police can’t do much in celebrity harassment cases, or harassment cases in general.”

As Shuichi’s enthusiastic words bubble from his mouth, he’s already reaching for the phone in his pocket. Kokichi can hardly keep up. He does suppose Shuichi has a point, it’s not like there’s people around him that can help if he is being harassed, but he also feels that he’s being a bit… selfish? Drinking up Shuichi’s concern like a greedy child (concern that he’s been thirsting for all his life), but Shuichi shouldn’t have to be responsible for him. Even if Shuichi smiles at him like they’ve known each other their whole life, even if he insists on being worried about his well-being—that just proves he’s a good person. He doesn’t know Kokichi, what he’s like—not really.

“A-are you sure?” His eyes dart from Shuichi’s phone (halfway out of the uniform pocket) to the ground. “It’s not… a big deal. N-not that I don’t want your number, but you don’t need…”

But a part of him wants Shuichi to worry, because why else would he stick around otherwise? Kokichi is, to put it plainly, boring. The most interesting thing about him is that he was chosen for _Danganronpa_ , but before that, he can’t think of much. He goes home and busies himself with housework, and then draws out homework sessions after dinner because he has nothing else to do otherwise. Compared to vibrant, passionate Shuichi (no matter how reserved the boy seems at first glance, his voice reveals most of what appearances hide), he may as well be a flat, gray rock on the side of the road. Shuichi just doesn’t know that yet.

He fidgets. “You don’t need to force yourself.”

“But I’m not,” Shuichi insists. He takes out his phone completely, fingers poised to type. “And if you do want my number, you’re free to have it.”

A chance is finally thrusted in his face (a chance for friendship, a connection, something other than the empty pit in his stomach when he sits alone in the corner at school) and Kokichi isn’t strong enough to resist. “Sure,” he says. His hands tremble a little too much as he scrambles to also retrieve his phone. “And, i-if you want, you can have, um, mine too.”

“Of course.” Shuichi’s beaming. It’s probably just another one of his small smiles, but Kokichi swears he could melt from the intensity of it. Or maybe that’s just him.

He doesn’t think it weird that Shuichi continues typing on his phone long after his number’s been called out, too busy staring at the newest contact in his phone (among a short list of contacts: his mom, his older brother (emergency contact, just there to fill the line on school nurse forms), and Team Danganronpa—the line reserved for chosen participants).

Shuichi stops suddenly, seemingly noticing something. “Old phone?” he says, pointing to the scratched-up flip phone in Kokichi’s hands.

“A-a bit,” Kokichi says, face going red. Compared to the sleek smartphone in Shuichi’s hand (he doesn’t know much about mobile tech but just from the size he guesses it’s a newer model), his looks like archeological dig site material. “It’s just what I’m used to so I haven’t, uh, really gotten an upgrade.”

“So no internet or maps or… anything?”

“Y-yeah, there’s… it’s just calling and texting. It doesn’t have a locator, or wireless signal…”

Shuichi lets out a thoughtful hum. Kokichi thinks he’s just inspecting the phone in his hands until he says, “You’re very interesting, Ouma-kun.”

There’s a faraway look in Shuichi’s eyes. He may as well not be talking about Kokichi at all. But his tone is so full of sincerity, and a faint blush rises to his face anyway and he ends up not replying in his overly-flustered state.

If Shuichi notices, he doesn’t say. “I use my phone for Twitter mostly, fan discussions and such float around on there so I get involved in those sometimes… and I run a blog, too.”

Shuichi takes over the conversation from there, explaining the technicalities of running a blog and how he has to vie for attention against other similar commentary blogs. Kokichi doesn’t understand most of the terms and phrases the other teen uses, but the vigor Shuichi gives off makes him want to listen, to learn. And surprisingly enough, some of it is genuinely interesting. He thinks he could listen to Shuichi talk all day.

They both jump when the announcement for Kokichi’s stop blares over the loudspeakers. “Sorry, I talked too much,” Shuichi says apologetically. “And about _Danganronpa_ again…”

“A-ah, no, that’s alright!” Kokichi insists, shaking his head. “You explained it very well, Saihara-san, and, I-I really liked listening to you, and you taught me some new things, and… don’t be sorry, Saihara-san, I-I enjoyed it.”

Shuichi blinks quizzically for a bit before he _beams,_ the biggest smile Kokichi’s seen on him so far, and it’s directed _right at him._ Saying he’s star-struck would be an understatement.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Ouma-kun,” Shuichi says, smile never fading. “Next time, you can tell me lots about yourself too.”

Kokichi ducks his head as he nods, hoping his burning cheeks aren’t too noticeable in the pale light of the subway train. He departs with a last wave to Shuichi, but inwardly he’s thinking:

_I won’t._

* * *

 

In the days that follow, he gets on the subway to listen to Shuichi talk about all sorts of things: mainly _Danganronpa_ (because his knowledge of the show is seemingly endless), but also about himself, his school, his life. And Kokichi takes it in with rapt curiosity. To have a person talk freely to him, to be so open—it’s sort of an addicting feeling. To know that this is the information Shuichi is choosing to share, to entrust him with.

But there’s also some guilt there. The conversations are pretty one-sided because it’s not as if Kokichi is keen to give out information—or has much to contribute at all. Now and again Shuichi will ask him a question about himself and he’ll stutter out an answer. He’ll remember the angry flash in Yamada’s gaze whenever he’d give a single-sentence answer and brace himself for the same from Shuichi. But even with his pathetic one-word answers Shuichi remains ever-patient, smiling eagerly like every word from Kokichi’s mouth some sort of gift.

(Kokichi makes sure to pack up early so he can be swept away by the stream of students as soon as the bell rings, before Yamada ever catches sight of him, before he or anyone else can loom over Kokichi and bombard him with questions he can’t answer. Then, at the subway station, he’ll slow his steps so the train that’s already there passes by, and a few minutes later, he’s the first one on the next train that pulls in. He’ll spot Shuichi immediately and walk over, but still linger in front of the seat for a bit before Shuichi smiles and invites him to sit beside him.

One of these days Shuichi might say “no,” but whenever he doesn’t, there’s a little flutter of happiness in Kokichi’s chest.)

Then, approximately a week after the interviews were uploaded, he gets a message from an unknown number.

There’s no text, just multiple images. Each one contains a red circle centered on the same small figure with messy violet hair. Some of them are blurry as if taken in a hurry and some of them are strikingly clear—but in each picture, the circled figure is unmistakable.

It’s him.

It’s him walking through the gates of his school, sitting in the classroom, standing at the subway doors; there’s even a blurry picture taken from the ground, looking up at him eating on the roof. Kokichi doesn’t realize how violently he’s shaking until his phone clatters to the ground. He scrambles to pick it up, to gaze at the pictures again to confirm that they’re real.

It’d be better if there was a threat, he thinks. Then at least he’d know what this person wants, have some sort of idea how he can appease the person and prevent a situation. But all he knows is the uneasy clench of his stomach, the paranoia starting to rise as bile at the bottom of his throat.

He thinks about staying home for the day, but maybe home isn’t safe either. If this person has been following him, what’s to say that they don’t know where he lives? It’d be better to be surrounded by people for the day. The streets from his apartment to the subway station are crowded enough in the morning for him to be relatively safe.

Afternoon is a different story. There’s not many high schoolers in his apartment complex so there’s not many other students walking home, and most people are still at work by the time he gets out of school, and they’re there late into the night. He’ll have to figure something out for the afternoon. He has just enough money from his mom’s last letter to perhaps get a cheap motel room for the night without having to starve for too many days, and he’ll just cut down on lunch for a while. His grades will probably suffer for it (he knows this from past experience) and that’s a painful thought, but he doesn’t have a lot of say in the matter at the moment.

Kokichi knows that contacting the authorities isn’t an option. They’ll want to know too much, too much that he can’t afford to give.

He goes to school looking over his shoulder every couple strides, eyes darting from bush to bush to perhaps catch a figure lurking in the greenery. Nothing reveals itself, and it just makes him more paranoid than ever because he spies a multitude of places where a person could watch and observe if they wanted to.

Shuichi warned him about crazed fans and he hardly gave it a second thought. How could he be so _stupid?_

To make matters worse, his fears are confirmed when he gets another text during lunch with a single attachment. He knows he should ignore it, delete it, but a morbid sort of curiosity compels him to open it against common sense. His stomach drops when the photo pops up on his phone screen.

It’s the entrance sign to his apartment complex. Just a couple meters away from the exact building he lives in.

Panic seizes his whole body, his knuckles going white as his fingers grip the phone with as much strength as he can muster. His escalating heartbeat throbs in his ears, reverberating from his chest in rapid thumps and he tries to soften the trembling by drawing his knees into his shaking upper body, taking shallow breaths—

God, he’s such an idiot. Of course _Danganronpa_ would’ve gotten him into such a mess, it’s a literal _murder_ _show,_ of course crazy people would associate with it—

 _There’s Shuichi,_ a not-so-helpful part of his thoughts whispers to him. His mind races at the name.

If he told Shuichi about… would he help? Would he want to? He’d of course, help, because he’s the Shuichi who decided to let a person like him sit next to him on the train every day for 40 minutes, the Shuichi who carries every conversation but still looks at him like _he’s_ the one adding something to the experience, like he means something—and Kokichi’s already demanded too much of him, he demands something every day he approaches Shuichi and hopes that he’ll be given an invitation to sit down.

These are the thoughts that cause Kokichi to linger at the subway door instead of going to his regular seat. He knows Shuichi is sitting over there somewhere, but he just… can’t.

The subway departs from the station with a melodic bell tone and he glances as the map posted on the walls of the subway car. He wonders if he’s being followed now and does a quick sweep of the people around him. They all seem to be engaged in their own little bubble, whether it be staring at their phone screen or reading a book, but who among these people are glancing at him from the corner of their eyes or flicking their gaze towards him when he’s not looking?

He goes to observe the subway map again after one more weary glance at the others in the subway car. He’s not the type to go out much unless it’s a necessity, so most of the places marked in dots are unfamiliar to him. But perhaps if he takes a more convoluted route home, he could shake off any pursuers—

“Ouma-kun.”

Kokichi swivels around at the sudden touch to his shoulder, panicked eyes turning to meet the soft, worried gaze of Shuichi’s. “You weren’t sitting down,” the taller boy says. “And you look pale—paler than usual—is… is everything alright?”

The hand clutching his flip phone to his chest tightens. “Y-yeah, everything’s fine, I-I was just—” he makes a vague gesture at the map, hoping Shuichi interprets it in some sort of way that makes sense.

Shuichi’s eyebrows knit together. “Come sit down, you’re—” His gaze flickers down to Kokichi’s chest, to Kokichi’s hand. “You’re shaking. Something… happened, didn’t it?”

Shuichi’s soft gaze turns ice-cold, piercing into him and demanding the truth. Kokichi’s lips tremble, refusing—but that’s truth enough.

“Ouma-kun,” he says gently, “What is it?”

Wordlessly, he opens to the messages and hands it over to Shuichi’s waiting hand. He stares intently at the ground as Shuichi scrolls through the images silently.

“Someone’s stalking you,” he mutters, voice so low that it’s like he’s talking to himself more than towards him. “This is… pretty bad.”

Kokichi gulps. “I-it’s not that bad, I mean—”

“You don’t have to lie, Ouma-kun.”

He falls silent.

Shuichi hands back his phone, casting a thoughtful look towards Kokichi. “I’ll walk you home.”

“You don’t have to, Saihara-san, really.” His voice trembles under the weight of the lie on his lips. “I-I’ll just call the police after I get home, a-and the person will be caught. They haven’t s-sent any threats, so…”

“The road to your building is pretty secluded. It’s too dangerous. I don’t want to leave you alone.” As if reading Kokichi’s thoughts (it’s probably clear on his face anyways), he continues with a reassuring smile, “I’d do _anything_ for you, Ouma-kun. This is nothing.”

Kokichi’s mind reels at Shuichi’s proclamation. The passion behind those words… are dizzying. Disorientating.

(He doesn’t stop to think how Shuichi’s never seen the road to his house.)

“Saihara-san…”

There’s a lot of things he could say. He could ask Shuichi why he’s being so kind. Why he cares so much. He can remind Shuichi that they’re strangers. That the most Shuichi knows about him is that he got into _Danganronpa_.

But he’s so tired of being alone.

“...thank you.”

Shuichi beams and the smile goes all the way to his eyes. The depths of his gray-blue irises swirl. Kokichi thinks it’s happiness.

“I’ll keep you safe,” Shuichi promises.

(The colors in his eyes keep swirling.)


End file.
